'If you want to get ahead, get a hat.'
As a sales pitch, I must agree with that,
but this hat looked rather silly
and quite gave me the willies
till spooky wavy lines had graced this face.
Now weirdo hat is not so out of place!
I give you a snippet from the Mag picture which Tess found this week, and which I had fun 'embroidering' a little, in keeping with the macabre subject :-)
Upwards,
ever upwards
I climb towards the light
while my roots delve into the earth.
I seek nourishment to sustain my blooms
which must encounter sun's blessing
to complete the circle
of my journey
upwards.
Here I've used the Rictameter, nine line syllabic form (2/4/6/8/10/8/6/4/2), where each line increases by two syllables, and the first and last lines are the same. For the Mag 191, Tess chose a painting entitled 'Le Jardin' by Max Ernst.
Mention a ball and my feet will start tapping
as long as there's music - or perhaps some rapping
of words that will set the mind dancing instead -
as long as the language isn't over my head
with modern expressions that don't mean a thing -
and we can carouse till the fat lady sings
an opera aria which will delight
any opera buffs who are with us tonight...
In one corner a Scots man will pipe us a jig,
in another a sailor in full naval rig
will dance us a hornpipe and shiver me timbers
as I ogle his muscles, all salt-flecked and limber
from climbing the ropes of his ship in full sail
as he weathers the storm in the face of a gale...
Perhaps we'll hear drumming in good Irish style
as we sip on a Guinness and pause for a while
to study the dancers, at this Willow Ball,
whom Tess has cajoled with her ' Come, one and all!'
I've no time for pictures or musical clips
for writing this ditty was enough for my wits
to contend with, this rather grey day in October.
At this part of the evening I'm still fully sober,
but once the old moon stamps its smile on the sky
I'm sure the festivities will make me high!
So raise up your glasses, and let's have a toast -
" To Tess, and her Manor that spreads coat to coast!"
This night,
the land is bathed
with scent of coming rain,
storm-chased by wild clouds above
the path.
In awe,
the artist stands
transfixed by the beauty
as he wends his way uphill
to home,
his house
a solid shape
beneath the silhouette
of branches dancing in wind's
embrace.
One day,
paint on canvas
will imortalise it,
this fleeting moment in time,
this gift
which he
stores in his mind,
ready to begin work
as soon as daylight calls
"Morning!"
This week, I've used a detail (colour enhanced) from the Mark Haley image which Tess gave us for The Mag prompt today.It reminds me of a Constable painting...
Shall we toe the line?
These, on paper, make a map
with grids overlaid...
whilst others etched in the past
link those far times with today.
Wikimedia Commons
Thanks to Tess, this week I read some Wiki background on the magical name 'St Ninian's Isle' and discovered photos of hidden, silver treasures that were unearthed in our lifetime. The one I've posted here had such a plethora of curved and straight lines, that I couldn't help but link it to those on the map, so you could see the connection, too. Enjoy! Please click on the photo to see the true beauty of the silver work. :)
The IGWRT Toad challenge today has got me hopping to it rather late, but I couldn't resist a bit of playful nonsense to round off the week. Sorry, Fireblossom, but thanks a bunch for the spark which called it into being! LOL
The Inebriated Sherpa
forged his way ahead-
but those who followed after him,
ended up as dead!
Drink and climbing do not mix -
no wonder he got in a fix
when he lead his party up the mountain -
he should have sipped from a soda fountain!
Love flows through the words like a shallow stream through a green meadow; almost invisible, still this stream sings, while its earth-bed of every day is a natural camouflage. Ears play tricks in the dappled sunlight of the thoughts dancing over its surface, and marvel at its unwritten music, its secret beauty.
On a bad day...
Drought sucks life giving moisture from every phrase, and a hard-baked crust cracks and shatters dreams into dust. A desert of loneliness stretches throughout a barren landscape where a mirage tricks the memory into belief of an oasis of affection. Wind flings the whirling sands into the mind's eye which cries for that which might have been.
In the Imaginary Garden for Real Toads today, Peggyasks us to turn our attention to 'Things Carried'. This set me thinking, and I homed in on the invisible things carried by words...
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,
or so the old saying goes,
but why in this picture the bird's on a shelf
while the young lady sits in a tree by herself -
well - I reckon that nobody knows!
In the moment sleep envelops bodies,
causing them to plummet into night,
floating shapes of random jigsaw pictures
begin to infiltrate the inner sight.
Like boats adrift in dreams sans map or compass,
the journey's never under our control,
for darkness leads all where it will till morning
when daylight lays its claim upon the soul.
Thanks for the inspiration go to Tess and Elena Kalis at The Mag 182.
The paper stares upwards, its pregnant, featureless face begging the artist to capture some character as yet unknown. It yearns for the imprint of pen or pencil, for bold lines to form images on its surface, or for words which will speak stories for posterity to enjoy...
Only then will the blank page find fulfillment.
Thanks to Tess and M C Escher at Mag 180 for this week's prompt, which, to my amazement, has turned out to contain 55 words. So come Friday, it will be added to G-man's list, as well - make the most from the least, that's my motto...
Dream pictures flicker
across the screens of darkness
while night suggests sleep.
Tess has offered another mind bending picture to get our engines revving for this week's Mag. I have, of course, changed gear, in order to head for the realms of fantasy!
An egg-bound goose had found relief,
but her clutch was stolen by a thief
who saw the eggs were really gold,
and grabbed as many as he could hold.
The laying process had been tough,
but golden nuggets were not enough -
the young lad wanted ingots, see...
How easy for stacking they would be!
He planned to smelt down all the eggs,
and dreamt of this when he went to bed.
But come the morning, when he looked,
he found it was his goose he'd cooked!
A flight of fancy written for Tess and Agustin Berrocal at The Mag 177
No words have come to me yet for Mag 175, where Tess posted an image by Musin Yohan.
Something may occur to me later in the week, in which case I shall add it here. ** (see below!)
In
the meantime, I give you the progression of thought pictures which lead
to the totally abstract, final offering, where everything has turned
upside down, as that way, the colours suggested to me a lightening of
the spirit as an escape from the menial tasks of working in the fields.
** I'd hardly clicked on the 'publish' button, when my mind took over from my fingers, and there was this shadorma, waiting to appear. Possibly the act of not thinking, allowed the new thoughts in!
Spirits lift
towards the heavens
and burdens
grow lighter
as the mind refocuses
in meditation.
